Drifting
by helga3
Summary: "Far away, a child dreams of the river." A very young Merry and lots of vague foreshadowing. Oneshot, moodpiece.


**Disclaimer:** Tolkien's, not mine.

**Drifting**

Far away, a child dreams of the river. Glittering in brown and bronze and blue in the sunlight, it stretches out before him, flowing away into strange and unknown lands beyond where his people do not go. (Except one, of course, but he is mad. Completely, utterly, wonderfully mad.)

He is standing on the little bridge outside his home, the one where the boats are tied and where his father thought him to swim.

The boy knows that his family is different, and he is glad, because he likes the river. He knows the rest of his people do not. They do not trust it, and look upon it with suspicious eyes. They whisper about it, calling it a killer, a murderer. But the boy does not remember any deaths. He has heard of the, of course, but he does not blame the river. (Except sometimes when he sees his usually so mischievous and lively cousin standing all alone looking at it when he thinks no one can see him. Then he sometimes blames the river.)

But no such thoughts disturb him now as he dives into the water. It's cool underneath the surface, and the light is different; green and brown and grey and every colour you can imagine, and the halfling child is awed, as always, and pities the people who will never see the underwater lights. With his eyes wide open, he swims along and lets the current tell him where to go.

When he finally swims up to the surface again, he is far away, his home so far behind he cannot see it anymore. (When did he learn to hold his breath that long? Perhaps he was breathing underwater all along and didn't notice?) But he does not panic, he turns and lets himself drift on his back still further away, sunshine on his face.

He looks on the unfamiliar landscape as he passes; fields and towns and marshes. When he passes a smaller river that is running into his, (it _is_ his! At least, at the moment.) he stops, confused. But the smaller river laughs and tells him _'not today',_ and her voice is clear and melodious and he believes her and knows he has to go on. He will visit her some other time.

At places, the river is so shallow he can't swim and has to walk. He passes under bridges. (So different! No at all like the one he knows, a little bit up north from his home, but greater! Wilder!) He sees mountains in the distance.

And then the air around him that he wasn't aware of and the sounds around him he weren't aware of either suddenly change. The wind blows into his face, fresh and salty, and there is a constant sound that the boy does not recognise but knows all the same. Waves. And there are calls in the air, strange birds calling to each other and the world in their strange, sad tongue.

So the boy knows before he sees it – the sea is near. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the world has changed yet again. The river has widened, the banks are further away. To his left, he can make out trees up on the slope, the his right, only an empty bank falling into the sea. (He wonders for a fleeting second why there aren't any havens, but then he remembers that's another river. And then he wonders, how does he know?)

But the banks don't matter much, because now what is important is in front of him. Ever the same and ever changing, great and terrible and beautiful; the sea, grey and blue and silver and sometimes white it lays there before him. The waves never grow quiet, the strange white birds keep singing their sad sea-song in the sky. There is always noise, as there is always colour and always a scent in the air, and the halfling child thinks maybe it is all too much, too intense and too great and serious and timeless for him. He does not laugh anymore, but stares, speechless and entranced. He cannot be friends with the sea like he is with the river outside his home. But he watches it for a long time, admiring it and respecting it from afar, before he turns and heads back, swimming upstream.

When he wakes in the morning, he remembers nothing, but he goes to his father and asks if he's finally old enough _today_ to learn how to handle a boat.


End file.
